Shattered Glass
by manifolds
Summary: Set in Act III, Orsino and Marian Hawke find friendship, and eventually romance, despite Kirkwall's desperate times.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! This is my first time posting anything I've written on this site, so I hope it isn't an entire disaster! I plan on continuing this for several parts, though I am open to writing as long as people are interested. I'm rating this for M for chapters to come, though at the moment it's entirely clean. Anyway, thanks for reading! I appreciate any feedback in regards to the prose, plot, et cetera. I do not own anything.

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It was a dark, cold night outside, the stars shining brightly beyond his window in the absence of the moon. For a moment, Kirkwall almost looked peaceful in this dead hour, the only sound being the faint howl of the wind as it swept between hovels and houses alike, the occasional thunderclap of a storm brewing over Sundermount. It would have been a nice night to be out, strolling alone, feeling the crisp fall air refresh his senses. If only he could go out.

The Circle was a prison, and old as he was, there was no disguising its true nature. Orsino could only hope, as impossible as it seemed, to improve the lives of the mages which called it home, willingly or no. These days, however, that task seemed as improbable at anything else, considering Knight Commander Meredith's strict agenda. Frankly, it was a miracle Orsino had not yet been given the brand, seeing as his outspoken nature was most unwelcome.

He had had his moments of victory though, as few and far between as they were. Having the newly crowned Champion support his cause openly, and further, publically denounce Meredith had certainly been one of those occasions. He had been so thrilled, so amazed and shocked that the city's savior was a mage, risen from the decay of Kirkwall, single handedly defying Meredith's prejudice and slander like the second coming of Andraste herself. It had been all he could to run back to his office and write her effusively, enclosing the best gift his stipend could afford.

Now Orsino was lucky to consider the Champion his friend, the two meeting regularly in his office to discuss Kirkwall politics, the state of mages, and more recently, templar jokes. It was an easy friendship, something Orsino couldn't have predicted. In all honesty, it was relieving to simply have an ally, let alone a friend. The Champion had a laidback sense of humor, which he had learned masked her keen intellect- and the bags under her eyes.

Setting his quill down, the first enchanted smoothed his hair back, a few grey strands catching between his fingers. _I'm getting old,_ was all he could think for a moment, his mouth forming a hard line. _This isn't the life I wanted._

Shaking away such gloomy thoughts, he pulled his robes over his head, folding them methodically into his wardrobe, leaving him in just his underskirt. His room was a mess, papers and books strewn about on every surface. Chests filled with magical artifacts, ancient manifestos, and forgotten treaties gathered dust in every corner. Orsino was a man who did not let his work rest, and so he took it to bed with him, often falling asleep with a massive tome in his lap or a quill perched between his fingers.

Crawling under the quilt of his bed, he ran his weathered fingers over the first text he reached, a ponderous volume on the origins of blood magic and its religious implications. He vaguely wondered what Meredith would say if she saw it, not that she ventured into his dark corner of the Circle. Technically, she could say nothing at all, a first enchanter being authorized to keep both history and a careful memory of the forbidden arts. However, Meredith didn't exactly follow the rules anymore, only one of his many problems with the knight commander.

Letting the book open to a random page, he carelessly leafed through chapters, too bored and frustrated to settle into such dry reading. After halfheartedly trying a page, he gave up, shutting the book quickly and letting it slide off the bed with an exhausted sigh. It wasn't until he reached to extinguish his lamp that he noticed the red slick which was beginning to run from his index finger, running slowly past his knuckle and pooling into his palm. The irony did not pass him, and Orsino almost chuckled, looking down at the book which lay dejectedly on the floor. It was curious thing, blood magic, something which he had certainly never tried, nor considered before. However, as a scholar, he was bound to be knowledgeable, even when it wasn't prudent. His correspondences with the late Quentin had also been most productive, if regrettably heinous…

Snuffing out the candles, Orsino simply laid still for a moment, staring up into the dark ceiling above him, listening to the wind outside. Though his life was a long string of quiet moments, Orsino was ultimately a quiet man, and he enjoyed the subtlety that came with that lifestyle. After all, it was in these still moments that he could almost forget- about the oppression, about the life unlived, about the futility of everything he strived to achieve. Without even realizing it, his fist had clenched, and when he released it, his hand was sticky, the unstaunched wound still fresh and angry. He had hoped that perhaps it would close itself, though he supposed that tending to it might prevent an infection.

Letting the mana pool in his other hand, he suddenly stopped, unsure of himself. Perhaps he was just stalling, still hoping for the opportunity to… he barely dared consciously think the thought. With great trepidation, he brought his wounded hand to his mouth, feeling carefully for the wound and finding the small cut along the pad of his finger. It was then that he could feel it, the incredible energy, the low hum of magic as it reverberated throughout his body like a warmth, radiating outward. He had never felt so capable, so complete in his entire life. For the most fleeting moment, he didn't feel old or useless, or powerless against Meredith….

He was just Orsino, sitting on his mother's lap, laughing as she tussled his hair. He could see behind her the great _vhenadahl_, leaves green and healthy with spring. Though he did not register it directly, his mother was beautiful, sharing his big green eyes and high cheekbones. Her long auburn hair was braided meticulously down her back too, it's simple elegance defying the decrepit rags she was wearing. Her smile could warm even the coldest Ferelden nights, not that he had the opportunity to see her smile much. She looked away into the distance, beyond the alienage gates, as though waiting for something, or someone, which she didn't really understand but had been told, "it's for the best."

The memory shattered quickly, and Orsino shuddered as his mind ran to darker places, like his first years in the Circle. For the first month he cried relentlessly, then suddenly not at all. In the span of a year he had grown into his gaunt cheeks and dedicated demeanor, his hands always laced in his lap. Later, in his teenage years, they would be balled at his sides, too intelligent to so quickly swallow the chantry's doctrines.

Eyes widening, Orsino heaved, his back arching as the magic flowed through him in waves and spurts, stronger than anything he could have imagined. Blood was now running along his arm and dripping onto his sheets, the wound somehow bigger, somehow deeper than he remembered. His conscious mind barely registered that, instead focusing on reclaiming those memories, those lost shards of his mother that had been washed away, tucked only in the forgotten folds of the Fade. He could feel his eyes water, and for a long moment he almost felt his connection to the fade shatter, unused to such a tender emotion.

Recollecting himself with a deep breath, he dug his nails into the rough sheets of his bed, willing a better control of the blood magic in his veins, feeling it course in steady beats and rhythms the likes of which he had never heard before. Lifting back the curtain into the fade, he found himself venturing elsewhere, though he wasn't sure what had guided him, his own subconscious or something more sinister.

It was her, Hawke. Sleeping soundly in her bed, surrounded by the richness that was her Hightown estate. She was beautiful, her short dark hair falling around her eyes, her slender neck exposed as she curled in her sleep, fingers tightening on the hem of her blankets. Behind the closed lids of her eyes, she was dreaming, though Orsino could not tell of what, good or bad. Curiosity suddenly rooted in his stomach, and though it felt entirely wrong to pry, Orsino could not help himself, unsure where his simple interest turned to admiration, and then further, into something else entirely.

Feeling the magic rush from his bloody hand, he slowly reached forward, just plucking that fabric of the fade and pulling it open, revealing Hawke's restless visions in devastating clarity.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello! Here is chapter two. Just a trigger warning, there is some domestic abuse near the end, and additionally, there are intimate moments. Anyway, please review and give me constructive criticism. I had a lot of writers block with this, so hopefully the upcoming chapters will be a bit better.

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The dream was overwhelming. In fact, Orsino could barely follow it, the images which washed over him being an overlap of memories, visions, and everything else in between. The only thing that was clear were Hawke's emotions, and they reverberated off everything, almost palpable amidst the abstract textures and lights. For a moment the overstimulation was too much and Orsino felt queasy, unused to such a barrage of sensations, or being so closely tied to the thoughts and feelings of another being. In a strange sense, he could not tell where he began and Hawke ended, the dream blurring even that. Regardless, the elf gritted his teeth, cracking his knuckles and plunging himself into the dream, curiosity driving him forward.

At first, all Orsino could tell was that she was fighting, twisting and twirling, her staff nowhere and everywhere at once. The elf could barely follow her movements, each one blurring into the next, her teeth bared and her eyes shining. Around her was a sea of roaring darkspawn, and beyond that, a sea of nothing, the land charred and desolate beyond recognition. Despite the cacophony of battle, something about the scene was deafeningly quiet, almost eerie in its stillness.

Suddenly the dream rippled, and Hawke's breath hitched, her eyes widening as a scream formed in her throat. Though Orsino could not tell what caused the sudden fear, he could _feel_ it, like a pit deep within his stomach. It was something he had felt as an adolescent, thinking about his harrowing with boyish nervousness. Now that fear seemed silly in retrospect, but he could not help but feel sympathetic at the very least. Quite frankly, Orsino was unsure whether this was a memory, a hallucination, or both. Following the woman's line of vision, the source of her panic suddenly wavered into being, like a fragile mirage in a desert. It was a woman, eerily similar to Hawke in appearance, long dark hair obscuring her face.

And she was facing an ogre alone, her knuckles white as she gripped her rough-hewn staff.

Hawke screamed, her arm outstretched as she tried to push through the horde. Frustrated, she lashed out, a wave of fire slashing at the air wildly, desperately. It was no use however, her dream taking a nightmarish turn as each darkspawn was replaced by three more, a small army forming between Hawke and the lone woman. Orsino could feel the mana draining from her body too, her staff suddenly too heavy for her hands, any useful spell suddenly far out of reach. Hawke's fear had to turned to desperation, then finally, to despair.

For the briefest moment the dream froze, and Orsino could almost make out the woman's face, the ogre's claws in mid swipe towards her body. She looked kind, her honey eyes warm, face framed by soft black curls. Her resemblance to Hawke was so uncanny, Orsino found it remarkable… Then suddenly, it clicked, and he almost gasped, realizing he was looking at the final moment of Bethany Hawke, the sister Marian rarely spoke of, or as he realized, couldn't.

Suddenly, the dream resumed and Hawke let out one bloodcurdling scream, Bethany's fragile form crushed like a ragdoll before her very eyes. It was horrific, each both cracking and snapping like twigs. Orsino could only swallow, his mouth suddenly dry as he watched Bethany's discarded, lifeless body roll limply towards Hawke. For a moment, the dream was so emotionally sickening that Orsino had to look away. Despite his best efforts, however, he could not escape Hawke sobs, which quietly filled the barren landscape, lasting for seemingly an eternity. There were no more darkspawn, ogres, or other fiends left, just something worse: a quiet moment between Hawke and body of her sister, lost forever, with only the quiet words "_Maker, give me strength" _carried softly on the wind.

Plunged into darkness, Orsino fell, though he couldn't guess for how long. To the elf, it felt like an eternity, unsure of where he was going or if he might die when he finally hit the ground. However, when he finally landed, he found himself relatively unhurt, only the wind knocked out of his lungs and his hands scratched from breaking the fall. Standing up slowly, he found himself in a field at night, the tall grass glimmering in the moonlight, rustling lightly with the breeze. It was silent except for a hushed chatter coming from the nearest tree line, several figures outlined by the glow of a flame.

Finding no other clues and unable to see Hawke, Orsino began to walk towards the group, wringing his hands in front of himself nervously. After all, who knew what he would find, especially considering Hawke's last dream sequence. It was clear her mind went to dark places, plainly haunted by her perceived mistakes and failures. It was a facet of the woman he had never seen before, so used to seeing the wry, amiable mage that occasionally brought a bottle of wine for the two to share, always eager to make good conversation. However, in his entire life he had never seen someone so astoundingly pitiful, so horrifically desperate as in that moment of Bethany's death. For a moment Orsino contemplated if he'd ever felt that way, ever cared about someone so much as to feel that agony. He decided he hadn't, though he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.

As he approached, he could feel the static of magic in the air, the low hum of it resonating throughout the tall grass. The sensation was comforting, despite everything else. In fact, the whole atmosphere of the dream was warm, almost safe. Slowly making out the outlines of forms of in the dim light, Orsino could see a taller man, perhaps in his forties, a globe of fire resting in his hands. In front of him sat two young girls, their faces eager and excited. The two of them, he realized, couldn't be more than twelve or thirteen years old. Orsino could only wonder what the trio was doing in the middle of the night, so far from civilization.

"Just focus the energy…"

"I'm trying!" whined a one of the girls quickly, her shrill voice frustrated. She was hunched over her lap, her dark hair falling into her face. Orsino squinted as he approached for a better look, still confused.

The man sighed and sat down on the grass with the girls, the fire in his hand ever steady. Taking a moment to smooth back his grey hair, he smiled faintly, his blue eyes crinkling. Instinctively Orsino knew he was a kind man, ever patient and sincere; or that's at least how Hawke regarded him, her thoughts and emotions influencing the very fabric of the dream. Though Orsino didn't mind the insight into Hawke's inner psyche, it made reading the dream's various characters particularly biased.

"Bethany, why don't you try?" The man finally suggested, looking to the other girl.

Orsino quickly realized he was looking at another memory, one which included Marian and Bethany as children, before the blight. The man, the elf then deduced, had to be their father, Malcolm Hawke, circle mage turned apostate. Orsino could only wonder then what significance this memory held for Hawke, that she would revisit in her sleep.

"I don't know," Bethany began, looking away shyly, "Marian is so much better at this than I am. If she can't do it…"

"Nonsense!" Malcolm Hawke chuckled, "You'll both get this in due time."

Marian looked up from her lap, her cupped hands empty. Though her dark hair was longer, there was no way Orsino could mistake her for someone else, her blue eyes as bright as ever, eyebrows raised. Even at her young age, she still had that defiant look, the one that exuded absolute, determined willpower. Orsino wondered vaguely where she learned it from, or if it truly was innate. "Don't worry Bethany," Marian tried helpfully, "the only reason I'm not getting it is because I'm impatient. You've always been better at that than me."

"I don't know, sister," Bethany smoothed her skirt nervously before holding her hand out before her, "but I'll try."

For a moment, there was a dead silence as Malcolm leaned forward, ever watchful. Orsino realized he was holding his breath too, waiting to see if Bethany would manage her first controlled spell. Then suddenly, the air charged and Orsino could feel her reach her mana, like heaving a great breath or slowly drawing back a bow. In Hawke's memory, it was as if the entire ground had lit up with magic, as if Bethany had awakened some deep, impossible enchantment. However, in actuality, just a tiny bloom of blue light flickered into her palm, wavering with the gentle breeze, though still impressive nonetheless.

Marian cheered, clapping a few times as Malcolm tousled his daughter's hair with his free hand. The flame disappeared as Bethany clenched her fists in excitement, looking up to her father then over to Marian with barely contained laughter. "I can't believe I did it!" She finally exclaimed, too excited to sit still.

"That was quite impressive, Bethany." Malcolm said happily, obviously proud, "I think you'll make a fine mage one day!"

Bethany beamed for a moment before quickly frowning. "Well, so will Marian!"

"Hey! Don't worry about me," Marian chuckled, playfully punching her sister's shoulder. "Just because you cast a spell before me doesn't mean I'm going to let you have all the fun."

The two sisters giggled for a few moments, exchanging looks before their father's voice brought them back to focus. "True enough girls. However," he paused, standing up and smoothing back his hair, "I think that's enough work for today. Besides, your mother is probably getting worried. One quick lesson before we head home: remember, magic is meant to serve man and not…?"

"Rule him." Marian finished, claiming at least one small victory.

"Very good, Marian. Very good."

For a moment, the dream was quiet, the glow of the flame warming the air, the sense of family stronger than anything Orsino had ever felt. Light danced on Marian's young face as she caught Bethany's eye, the two girls sharing a sisterly moment. Though Orsino couldn't help it, he felt a pang of jealousy. After all, Hawke had experienced everything he had always wanted: a family, a home, a world were magic wasn't necessarily a curse. Orsino realized he had been losing from the very beginning, never even given a moment of hope for a life beyond the circle, or as he was beginning to understand, a life at all.

In the root of his stomach jealousy was quickly becoming anger, and though he tried to fight it, the bitterness ate at him. How could Hawke claim to want to help the Kirkwall Circle? Hawke didn't, no, _couldn't_ understand the Circle. She had lived a blessed life by comparison, a loved life. Her understanding of the plight of mages could only be shallow at best. The more Orsino thought about it the more frustrated he became, until he could only look away, his lips forming a hard line as he tried to blink away his growing disgust.

His eyes then caught on Bethany, her young face softly lit by Malcolm's flame, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. For a moment he remembered her limp, shattered body just rolling in the dust, those honey eyes glazed and unfocused. It was hard to superimpose the two images of Bethany he now possessed, the young and the dead. With a great sigh, the elf's anger dissipated, now replaced with overwhelming guilt, for Bethany, but foremost, for Hawke. Orsino had lost a lot of things, but they had never been so violently ripped from him like Bethany had been from Hawke. Clenching his teeth, Orsino forced his eyes away from the scene, unable to look at Bethany's face any longer. Perhaps Hawke knew nothing of life in the Circle, but she did know pain.

As if Hawke had sensed Orsino's change of heart, the dream suddenly rippled and the idyllic family moment was lost. The very fabric of the dream shredded, leaving the elf in a sea of threads, nowhere and everyone at once. Slowly, the dream began to reweave itself till finally Orsino could make out his new setting. With a nervous sigh, he realized he was in the gallows, and he could only wring his hands, following Hawke as she walked up to Meredith, her nose wrinkled in anger and insolence.

"You can threaten me all you like, Knight Commander," Hawke snarled, "but I will never back down."

Meredith simply provided her bemused half smile, the one that always annoyed Orsino, "I _will_ have order in this city, whether you like it or not, Champion."

"I didn't realize that order was the same as Tranquility."

"Maybe it is," Ser Alrik answered, Meredith blurring into a new figure.

"But that's not fair! Don't you see!" Hawke almost screeched, her hands clenched at her side.

Cullen looked away, "I've felt what mages can do to men..."

"But," the Champion pleaded, almost on the verge of tears, "not all mages are like that. You have to give them the benefit of the doubt!"

"Stop thinking you're some special case, sister!" Carver barked, rolling his eyes.

"I just want to live- is that so much to ask for?"

Ser Kerras laughed, a horrible glimmer in his eye. "Mages aren't people. They don't deserve anything."

Hawke looked as if she had been slapped, her eyes getting darker. "Maybe Anders is right. There is no justice left in the world."

"You know that's not true."

When Hawke looked back, she saw only Fenris, and for a moment she was silent, simply staring into his shining olive eyes, the wind whistling softly through the nearby alleys. The two said nothing, though Orsino felt like perhaps more was being said than he realized. Then suddenly, Fenris kissed her. It was more gentle than Orsino had expected. Though he had only seen the elf a few times, something about him always set Orsino on edge. And seeing him kiss Hawke…. it was unpleasant, though he couldn't really articulate why.

Without warning, the setting again transformed, and the trio was now in a dimly lit, though lavish, red room. Orsino realized, with a certain amount of dread that he was now in Hawke's bedroom, recognizing it from his earlier vision. Still locked in an embrace, Hawke rested her neck on Fenris' shoulder, her eyes downcast. It was as if her dialogue with the various Templars manifest had stolen the life from her, or at least her strength.

Without further ado, Fenris reached around and unclasped Hawke's robe, letting her staff fall to the floor with a thud. He was so mechanical, it seemed as though his face barely moved as he went through the movements of undressing. It was disturbing, Orsino recognized consciously. With a pained furrow of the brow, he realized that he didn't want to see this, that he didn't want to see Hawke sleep with this other elf. It wasn't just that he felt incredible wrong to be watching Hawke sleep with another man, and it was wrong (he knew that), but it was also _painful_, in a way Orsino did not expect. Fenris didn't even look interested in Hawke... He was just well, _there_. Was that what Hawke wanted, someone to just be there? Perhaps she had given up on romantic ties altogether.

Clenching his fists, Orsino sighed, frustrated. Though he knew little of love and lust, he knew in his gut this wasn't right. And all he wanted to do was leave… forget about this little voyage into blood magic and Hawke's dreams. It had all been a mistake. A horrible, terrible mistake. Some desire demon was probably prowling in the wings, waiting for him to give in… But Orsino _couldn't_ leave. He wondered when Hawke's nightmare had somehow become his own.

He knew he should have expected something like this too, and indeed, in some unaddressed part of his mind, he had hoped for it. However, the reality of it sent a shiver down his spine, watching as Hawke writhed under the elf's form on the bed, her fingers tracing the lyrium brands on his back. For a moment, she seemed to be in ecstasy, her breasts pushed against his chest as she clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist.

Then suddenly the next moment, she looked miserable, on the verge of clawing her way out of the embrace. The dream had obviously shifted, rippling almost seamlessly between pleasant and unpleasant. Once Orsino placed what made the dream so sinister, it was impossible to ignore, his mouth drying in sympathetic fear. Fenris was no longer a respite from the earlier Templars, he was one. Suddenly, the dream was beginning to make sense, and Orsino wondered what had exactly transpired between the two lovers, whether they had always hated each other or if Fenris was beginning to represent something bigger altogether.

Regardless, Orsino could do nothing, watching as Hawke brought her fist against the side of Fenris' head, trying desperately to push his form off her. The elf responded violently, grabbing her neck in his massive hand, eyes narrowing dangerously as he tightened his grip. For a moment, the two were in a stale mate, Hawke's eyes meeting his with newfound courage. "_Leave_" was all she could hiss, her teeth bared.

For a moment Fenris said nothing, his grip just tightening until Hawke's windpipe was truly closed, her eyes widening in breathlessness. More than anything, Orsino just wished he could _do something_, or at least that Hawke would wake up and end this horrific nightmare. The Champion, however, seemed determine to ride this out, for better or worse.

When Fenris finally responded, he spoke with the voice of every Templar, their voices overlapping and connecting until they simply formed one terrifying Sound, which reverberated from every corner of the room like an omnipresent force. To Hawke, it was more painful than any blow Fenris could have dealt.

"_What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?"_

For a moment, Hawke was silent, her eyes falling as her body went suddenly limp. Orsino almost thought Fenris was going to kill her, his hands still wrapped around her neck like a vice. Just as all seemed lost and Hawke's eyes were beginning to close…

The room suddenly shook and Orsino was temporarily blinded, light shooting out of Hawke's as she placed her hands on Fenris' chest and _pushed_.

It unlike anything Orsino had ever seen.

The light bathed everything, cleansing the room as it burned Fenris away. For a moment his body hovered, an abstract collection of lights and emotions, roughly bound by the sinews of the dream. Then, finally, he too dissipated, the dream purifying all darkness.

Orsino did not know how long the dream hung in that state. All he could see was Hawke, her form radiant, rippling with absolute magic. The more the elf thought about it, however, the more he realized she defied magic. Hawke was beyond that- more like Andraste herself than anything else he had ever seen. There were no words to describe her beauty, and quite frankly, Orsino preferred it that way.

With a heaving gasp, the light dissipated and Hawke fell back into her bed with a shudder. For a moment, he thought the dream would shift again, whisking the pair to some other corner of Hawke's mind. However, there was a still moment and instead, Hawke began to cry.

Orsino didn't know what to do, lacing his hands in front of himself uncomfortably. For a minute, he just watched the woman, balled up on her bed, head buried into her pillows as she let out long, gasping sobs. It was torturous, Orsino realized, to watch someone you care for go through so much pain, to be powerless to help. And he couldn't help it, the elf realized; he cared for Hawke. Though he would never expect her to return the emotion, it was nice to finally admit it, especially after seeing her at her darkest moments. No, the elf decided, he was happy to simply be her friend, her colleague in Kirkwall's troubling times. After all, how he could expect someone like Hawke to feel affection for him? He was old, crippled, trapped and useless in the Circle. There's was only one thing Orsino could do, and that was be there.

Without even realizing what he was doing, he walked over to her bedside, letting his hand rest on hers' carefully. Though he knew she couldn't feel his touch, nor would she want to in this state, naked and emotional as she was, it didn't feel right to stand by idly. After a while of standing, he simply sat down on the bed next to her, his hand resting gently on top of hers, listening quietly as her sobs became softer and her breath became less ragged, then finally, till the dream came to an end.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello! This chapter ends somewhat abruptly, but the next chapter will pick up exactly where it left off. Thanks to the very kind review from poison1234! I think that was the motivation I needed to keep up with this project. Again, any reviews, constructive or otherwise, are very welcome! Thanks for reading!

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For a week Orsino paced.

He was not an impatient man, nor was he frantic; however, concerns tended to weigh him down, or worse, consume him. This was certainly the case, his hands perennially worrying the hems of his sleeves, or wringing in his lap- or running through his greyed hair with a dull sigh. He didn't sleep much either, and that didn't help.

It was a question of Hawke, or rather, how much she knew. After all, she had not contacted him in a week. If she knew about his brief stint into blood magic (and her privacy) he had a gut feeling she would storm his office. However, there had been nothing- not a word, or a letter, or a visit. And so Orsino had stewed, left alone for the week with his fatalistic observations and morose predictions. It was likely she knew, somehow, and their friendship had been terminated.

As was only right.

Well, it wasn't right, but Orsino understood. There is only so much of a person one can see- or should see. Orsino had seen too much, and the memories of it tumbled in his thoughts, troubling him almost as much as Hawke's silence.

So, Orsino busied himself. It wasn't a particularly effective method, working from dawn to, well, dawn, but it kept him preoccupied, or at least preoccupied enough to keep Hawke's screams from his thoughts- or the nagging predication that she _knew_. It wasn't always enough though, and he could still hear her breathless battle cries, or worse, feel the warmth of her calloused fingers, limp in his gentle hands.

When he remembered that, his quill tended to bite into the page.

In any case, Hawke could not avoid the gallows forever. This was a thought that occurred to the First Enchanter early one evening, when he still had open doors in his office, simply writing up Harrowing reports. After all, he mused, she was an important woman, and as such, she had to have business with Meredith, or at least with _someone_ in the Circle. Orsino could not decide if this inevitable run in was reassuring or worrisome.

Of course, he didn't have to worry about it too long. Adding the final period to a sentence, he looked up shortly, a commotion brewing in the hallway outside his office. He could hear the tight voice of Knight Commander Meredith, her tone terse. Orsino could just imagine her face, lips tight as her blue eyes sparkled dangerously. In a way, he realized, the description was also quite apt for Hawke as well. It was her voice that came next- and though Orsino could not make out the words, he knew they were arguing. Like Meredith, Hawke's voice was firm, but wry, as though through nonchalance she could dismiss Meredith's argument with a chuckle. It was a good idea, but Orsino knew Meredith would not be fooled. Hawke had a certain fervor that could not be downplayed; she _always_ cared, and a roll of the eyes would not hide that.

For a moment Orsino considered going to the door and trying to listen, but he dismissed the childish notion, settling into his seat. Hawke would see him, or she wouldn't. Maybe, just maybe, after Meredith and Hawke concluded their business Orsino would intercept the Champion, and ask to chat, but that would take a certain amount of confidence that Orsino wasn't sure he had. After all, what if Hawke was speaking with Meredith about _him_? The very notion set a pit in his stomach, and he wiped his palms on his robes uneasily.

Silence suddenly fell over the hallway outside, and Orsino realized the two had probably concluded their debate. About to dip his quill in ink, he paused, wondering if he should catch the Champion before she left. However, how would that look to the templars? The first enchanter almost running to chase down a young apostate woman in the halls of the Circle? It would be amusing, at least.

He couldn't even complete the thought when, unexpectedly, there was a knock. For a moment, Orsino could not breathe, his grip on his quill instinctively tightening. It could be Meredith, or, it could be _Hawke_. Putting his quill down carefully and clearing his throat, he stood, calling out, "Just a moment" through the wooden door. Smoothing out his robe briefly, and then his hair, he stepped towards the door, opening it in one practiced movement.

So it was Hawke.

Orsino involuntarily swallowed, meeting her gaze timidly. She looked well, if not a bit flushed. Orsino had to wonder if her discussion with Meredith had been as taxing as it seemed. It did look that way, her features irritated, if not outright angry. For a moment, Orsino wondered if that expression was for him, if perhaps he was the target of her infamous ire. At that notion his heart began to beat just a bit faster, any saving (or damning) words catching in his drying throat. "Champion," he finally mustered, shifting his weight, "it is good to see you."

For a long, awkward moment, the air almost vibrated with tension, both Hawke and Orsino unsure. While Orsino's eyes nervously flicked from her face to floor, Hawke simply looked confused, one eyebrow raised.

Then, like a great exhale, she chuckled. "Relax, Orsino! You look terrible!"

"Really?" Orsino replied quickly, recovering his good nature as quickly as possible. He had been _certain_ his imminent death was upon him, in one way or another. "Perhaps I was merely concerned. You looked upset."

Hawke gave a half-smile, "You mean 'angry.' I was talking to Meredith." She looked away, playfully feigning impatience, "You know what that means."

"Of course- and I have seen you angry. Champion, let's just say I would hate to get on your bad side."

Hawke grinned, her eyes glittering, "I had no idea I wielded so much power in the gallows. If I'd known..." Her voice trailed off into an infectious chuckle.

Orsino simply shrugged, his exhale becoming a breathy laugh, almost nervous (though he could not exactly say why). "Champion, please. I think Meredith would be less than thrilled with this train of thought."

"Let her." She shook her head, black hair falling out of her eyes. She looked brave, her hand resting on her hip confidently. For a moment, Orsino was lost, too busy enjoying her presence, her humor. It was in these moments that Orsino thought that, perhaps, Hawke really could, against all odds, save Kirkwall.

Clearing his throat, he realized he had been staring. "Champion, is there something I can help you with?"

Her eyebrows knitted, shifting her weight, "Well, I _was_ just hoping we could discuss matters of the city, you know, chat about our lives. But if you're busy..."

"No, of course not," he interrupted quickly, pushing the door open wider and stepping aside. "I would love to chat. Though I'm afraid my office is in disrepair."

"You should see my estate," she replied wryly, stepping past him. Orsino closed the door behind her, setting a few chairs around his desk with practiced ease. Meanwhile, Hawke pulled her staff off her back, leaning it against the doorframe. "Do you mind?" She asked quickly, gesturing to the wooden staff.

Orsino waved away the concern, more preoccupied with hurriedly clearing the clutter of books and papers on his desk. Though he loathed to do it, necessity and efficiency demanded he stuff everything in his cabinets, though such disorganization made him cringe. Distracting himself, he turned to Hawke, "Is that a new staff?"

She flashed a smile, still unclasping her over cloak. "Yeah, it's new. I picked it up on the Wounded Coast."

"It's nice," Orsino complimented, though he knew that by 'picked it up,' the Champion really meant 'looted.' In any case, it was hardly a concern of his. Hawke's rough and tumble lifestyle was not a great mystery to anyone anymore.

Draping her cloak over the back of her chair, Hawke sat down, watching idly as Orsino finished the last of his cleaning, her fingers drumming along the arm of the chair impatiently. "I hope you aren't picking up for my benefit. This is a casual visit, Orsino."

Orsino almost rolled his eyes, instead just blinking patiently. "Champion, please. I could barely see my desk."

"That's another thing," she quipped, her head cocked. "You don't have to call me 'Champion.' Just Hawke."

Orsino finally sat down, smoothing his robes, before lacing his fingers together on the desk, his head bowed respectfully. "Of course. Hawke."

"Better."


	4. Chapter 4

Hello! This chapter is more conversation (and it again it ends somewhat abruptly). The next chapters should, I think, get relatively more exciting, however! A special thanks to the encouragement from Sakrea and Poison1234! It really helps!

* * *

Orsino cleared his throat, suddenly acutely aware of the silence that hung in the air between them. Outside the wind whipped through the gallows, a comforting, if not eerie hum that underlined the stillness inside. Across the desk Hawke sat soundlessly, leaned casually in her chair, chin resting in her hand. How she managed such an effortless air Orsino would never understand, nor would he ever try.

And though he could not consciously comprehend it, her wry confidence was frustrating. After all, her dreams had been so dark, so unrelentingly horrific that her wry persona had to be a mask of sorts, a defense mechanism against the world. Orsino could only wonder when, _if_, he would ever see that facade drop, or if his ill fated blood magic had been his only opportunity to see the world behind those glittering blue eyes. It was notion that made him sigh, the warmth leaving his skin for only the briefest of seconds.

"You were arguing with the Knight Commander," he started, clutching at a safe topic to fill the silence. "Do you mind me asking of what?"

She frowned, a perturbed snort escaping her. "As per usual, she needs me to do her dirty work: hunt down some lost apostates. Ironic, isn't it?"

Orsino only raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It is. And you agreed?"

"I didn't have much choice. She practically brow beat me into it. Luckily however," she smiled smugly, "I get to decide if the mages actually warrant recapture."

Now it was Orsino's turn to look amused, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled. "I must say, Champion, I'm impressed. I never thought I'd see Meredith overlook even a single, runaway mages, let alone several.."

"Well, she overlooks me," Hawke chuckled, though a bit uneasily. "And I doubt she's actually planning on letting the apostates walk; I'm just supposed to 'see for myself' if they warrant arrest. Who knows what she actually means by that."

"Sounds like Meredith," Orsino sighed, a hand running through his hair. "So what do you plan, if you don't mind me asking."

"You know me. If I would free every mage if I could."

Orsino sighed, his eyes darkening as they flicked away. The first enchanter knew he should be happy, warmed really, but something stuck in his throat, worry noticeably weighing down his features. "Meredith will not take kindly to that sentiment."

Hawke tilted her head, her eyes narrowing, "So? She knows how I feel on the matter. What? Do you not agree?"

"Hawke, you know I do. But, please," he couldn't help it, his features softening as he leaned forward, tone earnest, "I urge you caution. I fear what will happen to Kirkwall if your status does not prove protection enough from Meredith's ire."

For a second, Hawke seemed pensive, as though she too were feeling the full precariousness of her situation, her eyes meeting Orsino's for a long moment. He could have sworn he saw worry- and something else, perhaps. The moment quickly passed however, and she laughed, breaking the tension, her voice like chimes. "And what, let myself get fat, sit around the Circle reading books with you? Doesn't sound half bad. I think Kirkwall would manage just fine."

"Perhaps," Orsino chuckled, leaning back again, "Personally, however, I think the city would go mad in the hour. Also," his eyebrows raised, "life in the Circle is not so easy."

Hawke smiled, her eyes glittering as she kept up the repartee, "I'm sure. But what makes it so much harder than, say, killing fifty outlaws, twenty dragonlings, and a nasty host of abominations- all in one day?"

"Well," Orsino cleared his throat, "This morning I watched a Templar cut down a boy. His harrowing was taking too long, you see."

Hawke breathed in sharply, eyes widening. Her mouth opened slightly, though no words escaped, a shocked silence filling the air momentarily. Orsino quickly looked away, unsure how to recover the conversation, guilt suddenly overcoming him. It was selfish, he realized, to make Hawke so worried, as if she did not worry enough already. If only, he thought rather wistfully, his conversational skills were not so horrifically unpracticed... Suddenly nervous, Orsino laced his fingers his lap, noticing they shook ever so slightly (though he still refused to acknowledge why), and cleared his throat hesitantly. "I'm sorry, Hawke- I should not worry you."

"No, it's alright. I should know about these things- as Champion." The last word didn't sound so confident. "How often does this happen?"

"More often than it should." He growled quietly, eyebrows knitting. With a languid sigh, however, his frustration broke, replaced with resigned exhaustion, his forehead smoothing slowly. "These are difficult times for Kirkwall. Meredith is struggling; she knows her tyranny cannot last."

"Well that's good." Hawke chuckled, though it was forced. "Sooner rather than later, I hope."

Orsino smiled, although faintly. "That's definitely something we both agree on, Champion. Now," he stood up, eyes lighting up ever so slightly, "I have a bottle of wine- if you are interested. I understand if you have matters to attend to elsewhere."

Hawke shook her head, a wry smile coming to her lips. "Not at all," she responded quickly, watching quietly as Orsino pulled the bottle from his cabinet, "I have nothing planned for the rest of the day, actually."

"Perfect," Orsino smiled back, his voice a bit richer than he intended. He could already feel himself making a fool of himself, trying too hard to impress Hawke. He was hardly cut out for pleasantries and conversation, his mind much more fitted to the solitude of books and literature. He couldn't help but try, however, his hand almost shaking as he poured the two glasses slowly.

"So, Champion" he began carefully, still pouring the second glass, "besides your dealings with Meredith, what else is happening in Kirkwall? You seemed busy this week."

Hawke laughed, taking the glass he offered graciously, her head cocked wryly. "I had no idea you were keeping tabs on me. I admit I'm flattered."

Orsino gulped quietly, chuckling nervously even as he kept up the banter. "You cannot fault me. After all, I enjoy our meetings a great deal." He really hoped he was doing this right, whatever _this_ was.

"Me too," she agreed, sipping her wine. "Sometimes I think we are the only sane people in Thedas, Orsino."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Well," Hawke rolled her eyes as though exhausted, "today, Anders asked me go dig in the sewers with him, for _sela petrae_, of all things."

Orsino almost choked. "The sela petrae that is in the mineral deposits of...?"

"_Urine_. I thought you might know of it." Hawke put her wine down, her face of mock disgust. "Now you understand what I have to deal with on a daily basis."

"It is... an odd request. I'm sure he must have good reason."

Hawke sighed, "Let's hope so."

Orsino raised an eyebrow, more bemused than anything else. "He didn't tell you?"

"It's Anders." She responded flatly, "Who knows what he's doing."

"Fair enough," he sighed, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Though it wasn't perfect, this was the easy conversation he enjoyed most, simply knowing more about Hawke, her opinions, her life. "Anything else of interest?"

"Well," Hawke scratched her forehead, "yesterday I met Fenris' sister. You know Fenris- he has white hair. You've met."

His eyes flicked away, voice terse. "Briefly."

Hawke dove back into the story effortlessly, oblivious to Orsino's discomfort. "Well, he contacted his sister, who met us in the Hanged Man. Of course," she continued, her head resting in her hand, "she brought Danarius, Fenris' old master, as well. It was terrible."

"I'm sure the Hanged Man has seen worse fights between ruffians."

"It wasn't that. I think Fenris actually thought I would give him over."

Orsino leaned forward, eyes narrowing briefly in confusion, "What do you mean?"

She sighed, looking for sufficient words. "I mean, before the fight, Danarius offered to cut a deal... and I think Fenris thought I was actually going take it."

"But you didn't."

Hawke smiled faintly, finishing her glass as she looked away. "Of course not."

For a moment the room was still, Hawke's eyes roaming the room, peering into her empty glass- anywhere but at Orsino. On the contrary, Orsino couldn't see anything else. She filled the room, or at least it felt that way. She was stunning, intelligent- compassionate. He only wished he could ask more about Fenris without darkening her mood further... if that was even appropriate.

Standing, Orsino crossed the room, drawing Hawke's eye as he opened one of his many cupboards. For a moment she was patient- but that could only last so long. "What is it?" She finally asked, eyes glittering curiously.

"It's not much," Orsino replied, pulling the package off of one of the shelves and placing it carefully on the desk before Hawke. She abruptly sat up in her seat, giving the first enchanter a quizzical look. "Please- you didn't!"

Orsino smiled, merely happy to see her eyes lighter than before. He knew bribery was unfair- but if it improved her mood, he simply couldn't help himself. "Please. It isn't much. But," he shrugged, "I thought it might suit you."


End file.
